Pages

Monday, 30 June 2014

Today I'm pleased to feature another friend and writer on my blog. Ruth L. Snyder was privileged to spend the first 10 years of her life in southern Africa where her parents served as missionaries. From there her family moved to Canada, settling in Three Hills, Alberta. Snider enjoyed her years as a "staff kid" at Prairie and is grateful for the biblical grounding she received there. She now resides close to Glendon (the pyrogy capital of Alberta, Canada) with her husband and five young children. Snider enjoys writing articles, devotionals, short stories, and Christian fiction. She is a member of The Word Guild and The Christian PEN. Snider currently serves as the President of InScribe Christian Writers' Fellowship.

Here are Ruth's answers to the writing process blog tour questions.

What am I working on?

I have several projects on the go right now: The San Francisco Wedding Planner Series with Helping Hands Press. For this project I'm working with 5 other authors on a light romance. Several of the volumes in this series have been released already. My volume will be releasing in July on Amazon. I recently posted about Life Lessons, which is the backstory for Heather Donovan, the main character in the series.

Olga's Discovery, a full-length historical fiction novel. I'm working at having the whole novel written by the end of August this year.

Twenty-two-year-old Olga Tymchuk, a newly graduated teacher, eagerly anticipates marrying her fiancee, Viktor, in July 1959. However, before they marry, Olga is committed to teaching for a year in Gillmore, Alberta as a requirement for the bursary she received in university. Viktor and Olga are separated when Viktor accepts a challenging job as a scientific researcher for the National Research Council in Ontario.
Olga is enjoying a challenging first year of teaching when Viktor is injured in a chemical accident. He seems to be recovering well, but then Olga receives a telegram that will change her life forever. Olga is drawn into a search for the truth, which forces her to deal with uncooperative hospital officials, death threats, and a sudden disappearance.

My light romance provides an enjoyable story that makes you stop and think. Because I'm tackling the project with 5 other writers and we're using a single plot, there are a lot of interesting twists and turns in the plot. I've been told my stories are intense. Olga's Discovery is set in Canada and gives a glimpse into rural Alberta farm life as well as Ukrainian culture. Twitter Tips & Tricks for Writers is divided into three sections, for writers who are beginners, intermediate, and advanced on Twitter.

Why do I write what I do?

I enjoy stories. Stories are powerful - Ted Dekker says, "Story is the shortest distance between a human being and the truth."

I am called to write

How does your writing process work?

Every project I work on starts with an idea. The idea can come to me through something I see, hear, or experience. Sometimes the idea comes in the form of a picture, or a character, or a lesson I've learned. Once I have an idea that keeps trying to get my attention, I brainstorm where I want to go with the idea. For fiction this usually includes the starting point, the main characters, some high points in the story, and where I want to end up. Then I'll sketch out a plot summary in very general terms. For non-fiction, I'll jot down a basic outline of what I want to include in my book. Once this is done, I do some preliminary research and start writing. Sometimes I have to revise my plan as I write.

In terms of getting the writing done, I make sure I get up at 5:10 on weekday mornings so that I can spend time reading my Bible and praying, catching up briefly on my e-mail, and then writing for a half hour before my family gets up for the day. I also schedule specific days and hours for writing.

July first is Canada's national day. It was originally called Dominion Day but was changed to Canada Day in 1983. I like the old title better because it sounds more classy. Besides that, there are one too many "duhs" in Canada Day.

Though I'm now proud of my nation, there was a time when I didn't understand the privilege I had in being a Canadian. When I was about four years old, I felt puzzled that there were no TV stations broadcasting on the first of July. It was already noon but neither local channel was on the air.

"Why is there nothing on TV today, Mom?" I called from the living room. She walked in from the kitchen and explained, "It's Dominion Day today. The people from the stations are on holiday today."

When I asked what Dominion Day was, she said it was Canada's birthday. Then she described how we lived in a town that was in a province which was in a country called Canada. It was all beyond me but I took her word for it.

In fact,it took me several more years to feel like I was a Canadian. To me, Canada was down east somewhere. I picked up that feeling through the attitudes of adults about the government in Ottawa, Canada's national capital. As the years passed, Ottawa felt like some distant place which had no bearing on my daily affairs.

My alienation grew when in grade seven, we had to learn French in school. Nobody spoke the language in my family or among my friends. In fact, I never heard french spoken anywhere I traveled.

When Quebec separatists took a couple of hostages and threw the country into a panic during the autumn of 1970, my alienation turned to outright anger. I felt, based on the constant stream of demands from Quebec for more rights, that our government cared only for that province.

Gradually, I became more aware of the good aspects of my nation. It has the longest undefended border in the world. Though our health care isn't free, because people pay for it with their taxes, people aren't bankrupted by catastrophic health crises. Canada's early history wasn't nearly as violent as America's. Even our money looked, and still looks, nicer than American dollars.

I'm much more involved in voting and politics today, chiefly because I see how blessed we are to live in Canada. I also worry about destructive legislation which robs people of their freedom to start businesses un harassed by government bureaucrats. Politicians need to keep their ham-fisted hands off and let free enterprise do its thing.

Believe it or not, a church minister taught me that Canada was the dominion of God because of two Bible passages. I learned later that he was wrenching both scriptures far out of their contexts. Since I didn't want others to fall for the same garbage I once did, I wrote about the bizarre things he taught in How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity. This wonderful testimony of God's gracious providence is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Virtual Bookworm Publishers.

Thursday, 26 June 2014

For most folks in North America, high school graduation is a special time in their lives. It's a recognition of twelve or thirteen years of hard work, according to the various school district's grading system. Graduation was even more special when I was a teenager as employers back then viewed it as being good enough to hire people.

Though I graduated grade twelve, I didn't attend my graduation ceremony or attend a grad party. I did value my accomplishment but I lacked the money to rent a cap and gown. This was because I was on Social Assistance at the time. It was a big improvement over the pittance Dad gave me to live on but paying all that money to rent clothes for one evening seemed extravagant to me.

Most high school students have friends and family who would be pleased to watch them graduate. Not so with me. I had few friends and my family lived twenty miles away. Mom and Dad weren't on speaking terms anymore so my family members would have to take the Greyhound bus into the city and rent a hotel room for the night. I lived in a tiny room with a bed just big enough for me and one small person. It meant that Linda could stay with me but Mom and Diane would have to find somewhere else to stay.

By the end of June, I felt all "schooled" out. Being visually-impaired meant that I had to study harder. The school had helpers who read long book assignments onto tape but I still had to put in those extra evening hours listening to the recordings and jotting down notes. Homework also took me longer as I had to use the closed-circuit TV reader in the library. Operating it became tedious because my eyes became tired after a while and I'd have to rest them.

Schooling is much easier for visual-impaired children today. With computers equipped with screen reader programs and other technical advances not available in 1975, they can do research on the web and print out beautifully-formatted reports. Even so, I value my diploma because I worked so hard for it. So to all those graduating and working this summer to pay for college or university, I say "well done!"

Tuesday, 24 June 2014

Which grade was the most important for you to receive a passing mark in? Most people would say high school. Of course passing university courses is also important for students. In my case, it was grade eight.

When I returned to the public school system after six miserable years in a school for the blind, I felt afraid of failing. It would be justification enough for the administration of the Alberta education system to ship me back to British Columbia for another year of loneliness and frustration.

I certainly had my work cut out for me. Jericho Hill School's curriculum was a year behind Alberta's public school system. Consequently, I had to cram two years of school into one. Most of my grades were mediocre but at least I managed to get a passing grade.

Some people might wonder why I was worried since schools adopted the practice of passing even students with failing grades. I worried that some bureaucrat would look at my failing grades and decide I couldn't make it in a school with sighted children. I never wanted to go back to that terrible blind school ever again.

Summer holidays felt especially joyful to me in 1971. Though I still had to prove myself in the next few years, at least I managed to get through grade eight. I also knew what to expect in September. The previous year, I hadn't a clue how to ride a bus to school or even how to catch one. Nobody taught me about bus routes and that I could phone the bus company to get the proper information. Everything was done for us blind and partially-sighted students at Jericho. Additionally, we weren't taught any skills for getting around in the city.

Monday, 23 June 2014

Today, I have the distinct pleasure of introducing a good writer friend of mine. Deon Lyons, with his lovely wife of 32 years, lives in Central Maine, where he had been gainfully employed as a successful regional sales rep throughout Central Maine for over 25 years. Mr. Lyons lost vision in his left eye in 1960 from a bout he waged with infancy retinal cancer. He maintained vision in his right eye until 2010, where at the age of 50, suffered from a central retinal arterial occlusion, which robbed him of his remaining vision. Shortly thereafter, Deon made the commitment to learn touch typing, and with the help of assistive technology, has enthusiastically rediscovered the digital world, along with a lifetime passion for writing. His creative works revolve around fiction, poetry, personal essays, short stories and a personal blog.

In the past year, Deon has self published a novel entitled Sully Street, along with a collection of poems. He has also recently taken steps to enroll in a community college in the fall of 2014.

Deon's writings have been published in local newspapers, online magazines, and have appeared in periodic online publications associated with both blindness organizations and his writer's groups. His constant message of inspiration and hope has appeared in local newspapers, on several Internet radio shows and has rewarded him with enormous insight from these opportunities.

Over the past four years, Deon has also been afforded vocational and independence rehabilitation, again through the state's DBVI program. He has received extensive training in independent living, as well as orientation and mobility lessons. Through his life's experiences these past few years, he has entered this next chapter in his life with optimism,determination and hope.

With incredible inspiration from family,friends and the amazing folks in the blind community, he strives to continue moving forward with his new found aspirations for many years to come.

Here's how this gentleman, who's totally blind, fulfills his desire to be a writer. Please read to the end or you'll miss some amazing stuff.

Question 1: What am I working on?

At the moment, I am working on a sequel to my Sully Street novel. The story, entitled Good Bye Savannah, is a story about the days of Southern plantations, slavery and the amazing strength of the human spirit. It's a story about a family that finds a way to stand together under incredible forces that consistently attempt to rip them apart. It's about how bred ownership of the human spirit can manage to be disrupted by a change in direction that brings the heart back in line with the goodness the world has to offer. I am having a hard time keeping my emotions in check while writing this story, as it has a habit of picking me up and carrying me back through time to a place that I believe we all can feel from the inside, out.

I am also continuing to write posts for my blog, pieces for my two writer's groups, and my poetry continues to sprout new visions from deep inside my soul.

As time goes by, my passion for writing continues to grow, and as I learn the craft from some amazingly unique perspectives, I realize that as I grow, my writing will also find growth.

Question 2: How does my work differ from others of its genre?

Answer: Well here comes my embarrassment. I don't really know how to answer this question, except to admit that I have not done much reading over the years. I did read a little back in my younger billy goat days, when I was just a kid, but that was a long time ago. I read the Hobbit and The Lord of The Rings, and a few other authors, such as Ray Bradbury and Howard Fast, but going back to the genre question, I'm not sure what genre they wrote in, what genre other writers wrote in, and what genre I am writing in.

One thing that I know for certain, my style of writing must differ greatly from others, especially those who write the same types of stories as I do. I write the movie that plays in my head. I sit, I think, the movie starts to play out and I try to keep up with it. Some days, it comes as fast as I can type, other days, it comes in chunks, but it always comes.

I recently finished a chapter for submission for critique, and one member commented that she hated a character in the chapter. I told her that as I pictured that particular character while typing, my heart pounded and my teeth clenched, as if she was real. She was real, and she came alive as I typed. It was an amazing feeling, and I relish those moments.

I also tell folks that I feel some times as though I am a portal, a conduit if you will, a channel in which an event takes place through me, onto the screen. When I go back and read some of my works, its as if someone else wrote the piece. It's an eerie feeling sometimes, but it's also an amazingly inspirational feeling that I can't escape, and choose not to want to escape.

Question 3: Why do I write what I do?

When I first learned touch typing after my vision loss in 2010, I started to write emails to notify folks back home how I was doing at an independent living program at the Carroll Center in Newton, Mass. I wrote to thank folks for their support, but I also wrote because I fell back in love with the process of writing. I had always had a passion for writing as a child, but never explored its possibilities.

I quickly found that as I continued my writing, I learned from my experiences. I learned about myself, how my vision loss had affected me, how much I was inspired by folks around me, how much family meant to me, how much I had to learn about myself so that I may continue to move forward with the next chapter in my life.

My writing became a form of therapy for me, and as I became a member of two writer's groups, the therapy became a passion once again for me, and I had found a purpose in my life that had both direction, and meaning. My writing became a part of me, and I, a part of it.

I have grown from my writing. I have been able to discover things about myself that I had never paid attention to. I finally started to understand who I was, who I am, and who I was working to become.

I imagine everyone receives some form of medicine from their writing. I know I do. I think some times that it's as if I became blind, so that I could see, or write.

I'm still working on the medicine, and the task is continuing to prove itself worthy.

4: How does your writing process work?

Well, this is an answer that can have many different directions. As I listen to the different styles and characteristics of folks in the different writer's groups I belong to, I understand that my style is my own. It's unlike anyone else's that I know. Some folks need to create full, detailed outlines of their stories or pieces before they start to write them. Others write of what they know and understand. It's factual and constructed from pure evidence. Some write from emotion and some write from hate and discontentment.

My writing starts from within and creates emotions inside me that stem from the movie playing out in my mind. I swear, some days it's as if I am at the theater with a box of popcorn, watching the big screen tell a big story. I hear it, I feel it, I sense it, understand it, try to avoid it and run towards it. It becomes a moment of my life that carries with it the memories similar to those of my own personal life. In a way, it becomes my very own personal experience, and then, I write.

My poetry comes at me in flurries. The rhythm flows with a melodic motion that carries the tune of word.

My essays, blog entries and short stories are formed the same way. I am a creative writer, and my passion is expression of emotion and feeling. I tend to write all over the place, like a ping pong ball, but I continue to write. My blog tells so much of what I have been through and how the inspiration seems to matter more today than it ever has before. I am grateful, and my writing tends to define that fact.

The message is always pure and concise. The meaning sometimes eludes me, until I go back and read it, for what seems like the first time. Again, it's as if I am reading someone else's typed words. I talk of this phenomenon quite often, but that's only because it's so prominent. It always is, and I always am right there, experiencing it all.

I have a process, this I know, but I'm not sure what you would call it, other than my style. Someone in my group, earlier on, told me that they understood Stephen King used to write this way in his earlier days. I couldn't believe I was being compared to the great master of Eastern Maine. I was humbled and speechless, but I was also a little embarrassed because I didn't know anything about this amazing author, other than he was definitely rich, and from Bangor.

I'll stick with the process that seems to work for me. I don't know what to call it, but it's all I have for the time being.

Thursday, 19 June 2014

It's a common site at the border between Canada and America. Canadians stream south daily to buy goods from U. S. stores. From what I've heard from friends who do the cross-border-shopping thing, it's been going on for decades. Why is this so? In a word, price.

A study from the prestigious C. D. Howe Institute says that government-imposed tariffs and supply management policies are mostly to blame for the price disparity between Canada and America. Between 2004 and 2007, the institute found the price gaps widened significantly on chicken, eggs, and dairy products. Other commodities governed by the supply management bureaucrats also account for the higher Canadian prices, some even before the merchandise reached retailers.

In an ironic twist of fate, the Canadian government's Competition Bureau had been looking into the high prices charged by retailers in this country. This proves my con tension that socialist interference with the free market only causes trouble. Furthermore, it oppresses the poor and drives demands for pay raises which many small companies can't afford. Capitalist gouging by "one percenters" is largely a myth invented by socialists to create discontentment with free enterprise in the hearts of their followers.

This C. D. Howe Institute study also shows me that free market capitalism is far better for consumers than bureaucrat-driven commodity control. These civil servants make good money but they don't seem to live in the real world. As I witnessed during my fourteen years in the federal government, taxpayers are treated as an inexhaustible wallet from which managers may pluck out as much cash as they could get away with for their schemes. I never agreed with this philosophy and I paid for my principles with continual conflict with employees.

Though Amway turned out to be a multi-level scheme, many of the lessons I learned about entrepreneurial initiative still ring true. Competition lowers prices and improves service. Monopolies, particularly governmental ones, increase prices and decrease service. Anybody who has clashed with bureaucrats at any government office front desk understand what I'm saying.

Tuesday, 17 June 2014

Today marks the fourteenth anniversary of my moving away from the noise and lousy neighbours of Edmonton. After much prayer, I put a bid on a house in Radway. By God's grace, I've had more than just a quiet place to live. This home has been my sanctuary from the dread of what inconsiderate neighbours would do next.

Back in 1993, a family of churlish people moved next door to the house I had bought in Edmonton. Whenever I complained about their dogs and their sun inviting noisy kids over, they became increasingly hostile. Because of the two years of constant tension and worry of what stupid stunt they'd pull next, I decided to sell my bungalow and move to a condominium. From what I heard, they had strict rules about dogs and noise.

Was I ever in for a rude awakening. The cars in the parking lot were close to each unit and their noise as they warmed up drove me mad each morning. The rumble of traffic from two main thoroughfares also grated on my nerves. Even the furnace bothered me. When it ran, it sent a loud hum through the entire unit.

One of the condo owners was an amateur mechanic. I often had to listen to him revving car engines as I tried to concentrate on my freelance writing. This man became hostile when I suggested he stop repairing cars and turn down their radios as he worked. The condo board president was of little help in convincing him to stop too.

I thought going back to renting would be a good idea as apartments for adults have strict rules against noise. I was horribly mistaken. The high rise apartment building vibrated like a tuning fork with every car which drove past it. Furthermore, the apartments were being sold as condos. This meant that the new owners were renovating their new homes day in and day out.

Moving to the main floor of a rental house didn't help me find a quiet place to write either. The next door neighbours ran a tow truck company from their home. Large diesel vehicles often vibrated the house from one end to another as their owners ate supper or lounged around at home. Those tow truck owners became huffy when I asked them to turn down the loud music in their backyard and when I complained to the bylaw officer about their monstrously-big flat bed truck.

What a wonderful change it was for me when I moved to Radway. This house I bought is on the edge of town and I have no close neighbours. I'm across the tracks from the hamlet and there's a farmer's field behind me. Apart from magpies in the warmer weather, I'm not bothered by much anymore. Writing is so much more pleasant now that I have the solitude and the peaceful surroundings to inspire me.

Monday, 16 June 2014

Thanks to Traci MacDonald for letting me be a part of this blog tour. It's my first time at this so please be lenient with me if I mess up. Thanks.

1) What am I working on?

At the moment, I'm promoting my most recent book called How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity. As the subtitle suggests, it's my testimony of being in a toxic house church and how God led me providentially to the correct understanding of himself as well as the Bible. Because nobody mentored me, I knew nothing about dangerous false gospels. No one invited me to church either. I found my spiritual nourishment through radio shows, particularly The World Tomorrow. When a friend finally did invite me to a Bible study, it was led by a self-proclaimed prophet with decidedly unorthodox views of Scripture. Now I want to warn naive believers away from the false gospels which the apostle Paul spoke of in Galatians 1:6-9.

2) How does my work differ from others of its genre?

Instead of a didactic exposition of the wrong doctrines I learned and the correct ones biblically-literate teachers taught me, I believed that showing how I was deceived and then corrected would be a better way to instruct people. Unfortunately, various apologetics radio hosts and teachers didn't help me promote my testimony. Neither have many Christians expressed interest in my story.

3) Why do I write what I do?

I've always liked telling stories. As a boy, I couldn't play sports with the others due to my poor vision. So I ended up telling funny stories to the girls at recess. I love the process of converting ideas into articles, reviews, and stories. Fiction is particularly exciting for me since I can let my imagination loose. It saves a lot of research work.

4) How does your writing process work?

I usually get an idea and let it ferment in my mind. If it seems exciting enough to write about, I type a rough draft on my PC. Then I listen to my screen reader speak what I've written aloud and make corrections as needed. Once I've used the spell check function and made it as cohesive as I can, I submit it to a publisher or upload it to my blog. I also query editors before I write articles so I won't have a great bit of prose with nowhere to send it.

Next Monday (June 23) I have author Deon Lyons lined up to present his writing process answers here. Deon Lyons, with his lovely wife of 32 years, lives in Central Maine, where he had been gainfully employed as a successful regional sales rep throughout Central Maine for over 25 years. Mr. Lyons lost vision in his left eye in 1960 from a bout he waged with infancy retinal cancer. He maintained vision in his right eye until 2010, where at the age of 50, suffered from a central retinal arterial occlusion, which robbed him of his remaining vision. Shortly thereafter, Deon made the commitment to learn touch typing, and with the help of assistive technology, has enthusiastically rediscovered the digital world, along with a lifetime passion for writing. His creative works revolve around fiction, poetry, personal essays, short stories and a personal blog . In the past year, Deon has self published a novel entitled Sully Street, along with a collection of poems. He has also recently taken steps to enroll in a community college in the fall of 2014.

Deon's writings have been published in local newspapers, online magazines, and have appeared in periodic online publications associated with both blindness organizations and his writer's groups. His constant message of inspiration and hope has appeared in local newspapers, on several Internet radio shows and has rewarded him with enormous insight from these opportunities.

Over the past four years, Deon has also been afforded vocational and independence rehabilitation, again through the state's DBVI program. He has received extensive training in independent living, as well as orientation and mobility lessons. Through his life's experiences these past few years, he has entered this next chapter in his life with optimism,determination and hope.

With incredible inspiration from family,friends and the amazing folks in the blind community, he strives to continue moving forward with his new found aspirations for many years to come.

On June 30, I hope to have Ruth Snider, a member of the InScribe Writers Group, with her replies to the questions for this blog tour. Ruth L. Snyder was privileged to spend the first 10 years of her life in southern Africa where her parents served as missionaries. From there her family moved to Canada, settling in Three Hills, Alberta. Ruth enjoyed her years as a "staff kid" at Prairie and is grateful for the biblical grounding she received there. She now resides close to Glendon (the pyrogy capital of Alberta, Canada) with her husband and five young children. Ruth enjoys writing articles, devotionals, short stories, and Christian fiction. She is a member of The Word Guild and The Christian PEN. Ruth currently serves as the President of InScribe Christian Writers' Fellowship.

On July 6th, I hope to have Michael B. Birtchet's answers here. Mike is a musician living in Portland Oregon. He also is the author of Slow Time, a science fiction novel. I don't have the link for his book at this time but I'll be sure to put it here next week.

Thursday, 12 June 2014

Father's Day should be a happy occasion for everybody. Unfortunately, we live in a broken world where people's behaviours cause tremendous emotional pain. So it was with my parents. Dad drank and Mom nagged, making both parents worse.

Having said that, I remember how Dad did try to be a father on occasions. He used to tell me bedtime stories when he wasn't at the bar. He also explained things like the universe being endless and how the sun wasn't on a stand but was by itself in the sky.

Dad took us places as well. We once visited a cheese factory in the town of Bruderheim. Our family went to a picnic area by the Sturgeon river. Dad and I often chatted on these trips. I suspect that it made Mom jealous because she only spoke when she rep remanded us for getting to rambunctious.

It was Dad who tried to teach me how to skate. No matter how I tried, my ankles wouldn't stay straight and I couldn't stand on the skates. I did learn how to skate a few years later but by then I was far away at the school for the blind.

My sister and I once played hide and seek with Dad. He was usually with his friends at the bar but he did come home at times to do his duty as a father.

Dad also made a toy for me out of an empty spool of thread, a tooth pick, an elastic, and a piece of a candle. When wound up, this thing would lurch and crawl its way across the kitchen table. The fascinating thing was that it was unpredictable. The thing would stop for no apparent reason and raise its tooth pick, then lower it as it proceeded.

Additionally, Dad took me often to the swimming pool each summer. Though he used the life guard as a cheap baby sitter while he had a few drinks at the bar, I enjoyed those evenings of fun and great rock music blasting over the pool's public address system.

Though Dad's drinking and threats to kill us all drove a wedge between him and myself, I forgave him when I was an adult. While staying at his common-law wife's house in December of 1984, Dad told me that he regretted missing seeing me grow up. He apologized for being away from home and asked if I'd forgive him. That was one of the happiest moments I had with my dad.

Dad had a stroke in 1983 and was in nursing homes until he passed away four years later. Though I wish I had visited him more often, I feel happy knowing that he gave his life to Christ and is waiting for me in heaven.

Tuesday, 10 June 2014

Does it bother you when products are advertised in glowing terms but the claims are exaggerated? It certainly upsets me. In fact, I've purchased many things and found them to be not as advertised. Thanks to Abbie Taylor for reminding me of one misleading product.

The first stereo I bought had an 8-track recorder built into it. When I unpacked it and set it up, I found that there were in fact only four tracks. The fact that each stereo channel was called a track dawned on me as I tried to figure out the discrepancy. "What a rip off," I muttered as I pushed the track selector button. I had heard of special tape recorders in recording studios where a person could record on one of eight tracks and listen to the others so I expected something similar. Once my disappointment wore off, I enjoyed the commercially-recorded music cartridges I bought as well as those on which I taped my favourite songs from records.

A year later, I felt disappointed by another advertising slight of hand. One of these false ads was in the 1977 Radio Shack catalogue. I had just started in the CB hobby when I read about a radio with a-hundred-and-twenty channels. While paying my rent, I asked my knowledgeable landlord about this amazing radio. "It doesn't really have that many channels," he explained. "They include the forty AM channels as well as each upper and lower sideband." Again I felt let down by clever marketing.

Computer disks also disappointed me when I found out that they aren't the values claimed on the packaging. Floppy disks and CD-Rs have some of the data space used for disk information and sector tracks. The same is true of external hard drives. So that one terabyte hard drive might only hold sixty megabytes of reserved space. While I feel it's misleading to value these media devices in terms of total data space, as opposed to actual storage space, I understand the need to have such reserve space but I still feel cheated.

I also resented that compact fluorescent bulbs were touted as environmentally friendly. Certainly they use a quarter of the power needed by incandescent bulbs but providing the same level of lighting. What we weren't told at first about was the mercury inside them. America's Environmental Protection Agency eventually warned people of how to clean up broken bulb fragments but in an overblown way. So what they promised was canceled by the danger these bulbs pose when not properly disposed of. I personally found the light from these lamps to be irritating to my vision. LED bulbs are now at the level of brightness where they can replace forty and even sixty watt incandescent bulbs, plus there's no danger of mercury poisoning with them.

Thursday, 5 June 2014

What does it mean to be a follower of Christ? Is it all about performing miracles and jabbering away in an unknown language? A close study of the New Testament shows that to follow Jesus for most people was completely different from what TV preachers demonstrate to the watching world today.

During Christ's ministry, he performed miracles to fulfil the Old Testament prophecies. These were also a sign of a new phase in God's redemptive plan for humanity. Most of the biblical accounts of miracles happened in three periods of history. The first was when Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt. The second happened when prophets were called and sent to warn Israel of her harlotries. The third wave of miracles happened when Christ lived among his people. The miracles continued after his resurrection and ascent into heaven.

Some people will argue that a new phase has happened with the charismatic movement of the twentieth century and that it still continues today. I take issue with that view because of all the false miracles and phony tongue-speaking taking place. On that fateful day when the Holy Spirit entered into the disciples at Jerusalem, everybody who was willing to listen heard the gospel in their own language. The only ones who scoffed thought that the men were drunk. If today's tongue-speaking was the same as on the day of Pentecost, earnest seekers would be able to hear the good news of salvation in their own language. Instead, missionaries need to learn the language of the land they'll be sent to.

Additionally, a close study of The Acts of the Apostles shows how miracles tapered off by chapter twenty-eight. Reading the letters written by the apostles to the churches they set up also shows that the flow of signs from heaven slowed to a trickle by about A.D. sixty. Those letters were mainly concerned with the good news of salvation and how to set up the local churches.

So what really is the Christian life supposed to consist of? We who have surrendered control of our lives to Christ are to spread the good news of his atonement on the cross for whosoever will believe in him. The amazing grace he showed us compels us to love others. We're called to be witnesses in all the world to the new life he has given us. Though we sometimes sin, Jesus is just to forgive our sins and to cleanse us from all un cleanliness. Though we pray for the sick to recover and for our enemies to do a spiritual U turn, it's up to God to grant or deny our petitions according to his wisdom.

But some will argue that we shouldn't say "thy will be done" because it's a lack of faith. We mustn't use the name of Jesus as if it was an unlimited charge card. We place our total trust in him and let him direct our steps in life. Faith isn't some magical force but implicit trust in God's sovereign power and wisdom. Knowing this makes even tragedies less of a burden. God does do miracles but they are rare and never done on command by famous preachers at arenas filled with spectators.

I know of what I speak since I used to believe in the idea that advanced Christians could wield the power of God like a magic wand. Now I'm much happier since I've placed my trust in the heavenly Father instead of my weak and wobbly faith. My journey from cultism to Christianity is laid out in How I Was Razed. This wonderful story of discovering real contentment is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Virtual Bookworm Publishers.

Tuesday, 3 June 2014

When the Federal Government of Canada hired me in 1981, I felt mixed emotions about being one of those civil servants people grumbled about. Fortunately for me, none of my friends disowned me. Neither did I become greedy or have to tow a line which contradicted my Christian beliefs. Best of all, most of the people I worked with were just regular folks. My daily activities were much like what David Byrne wrote in the Talking Heads' song, "Don't Worry About the Government."In those days, I worked in the Federal Building, now owned by the Government of Alberta. Since it had no modern air conditioning, we opened the windows on sunny summer mornings. I remember one morning when the new poplar tree leaves perfumed the whole floor where we worked. I enjoyed that very much.

Another activity I enjoyed was the conversations we had during coffee breaks. My coworkers and I would gather around with our coffees and buns from the Caterplan lady's trolley and have a good time.

The Caterplan trolley also helped support the Canadian National Institute for the Blind (CNIB). Thanks to it and the cafeteria in the basement, many blind and partially-sighted people benefited, particularly by being employed there.

My coworkers were also acknowledged in The Western Flyer, a newsletter of the Airports Branch of Transport Canada. What a great feeling it was to be appreciated by the managers of our department. The article also had a nice photo of the clerks and myself. It was so good in fact that I managed to scrounge a few copies to send to my family members.

I also remember the time when the Airports Branch moved across the hall. Each morning for a few weeks, I would walk into the space I had been in for about five years and then realize I was in the wrong office. I saw others make the same mistake for a while. I'm not a morning person so my body tended to go on autopilot. My blundering into the wrong place became a bit of a standing joke for a while but I didn't mind.

Though we moved into the newly-constructed Canada Place skyscraper in the autumn of 1988, I still preferred the Federal Building. It was near the Legislature of Alberta which had a lovely park. I took my lunches there many times to enjoy its scenic beauty. Canada Place had only a tiny park, frequented occasionally by homeless people. Though it was closer to stores and the Light Rail Transit, I liked the small drug store's selection of candy and gifts. Canada Place had, and still has, no windows to open. It suffered from the "sick building syndrome" which meant many people were absent during the flu season.

About Me

I've written 2 books, Deliverance from Jericho and When a Man Loves a Rabbit. I've written freelance articles since 1996 which appeared in diverse publications. I'm editing How I Was Razed, a memoir of my 15 years in a cult church and eventual discovery of genuine Christianity. It should be published by the end of 2010.

Buy My Books

When a Man Loves a Rabbit
This book sells for $10.00 (USD) plus $8.00 (USD) for shipping and handling. Copies can be purchased directly from the author via PayPal.
Deliverance from Jericho
This book sells for $20.00 (USD) plus $8.00 (USD) for shipping and handling. Copies can be purchased directly from the author via PayPal.